Bah Humbug: 18/12/08

(I know I look rough in this picture, but its still not bad for a photo still taken with my Sony Handycam) Not going anywhere near Dublin city this weekend. Not that much of a sucker for punishment, to endure the holy grail search for a wheelchair parking space, and to be nearly stampeded by seemingly recession immune people. People are taken aback when I tell them that we never had a Christmas tree. There was no weird reason for not having one, but once you don't grow up with something, it loses any significance in later life. My sister did her best to really decorate the house, complete with tree, for a few years, but now that she has her own house and new daughter, we are back to our minimalist best. Can someone please explain to me the significance of Christmas trees? Apparently they have only been around since Victorian times. Thanks to my father, all six of us would have overflowing pillowcases come Christmas morning, so it had nothing to do with being stingy. but Christmas has long lost any special meaning which it once had. Indeed it seems, it has now gone full circle, and is returning to its pagan-end of year festival- roots. The bane of my life in recent years, has undoubtedly been the tendency of my right leg to shoot out rigidly. I've been told by my occupational therapist that this is the result of a muscle imbalance, aggravates by poor sitting posture. I keep buying all these bath salts, which promise muscle relaxation almost to the point of paralysis, but I'm still getting the damn things caught in doors.

I would be a prime candidate to tie a bucket around it, and park myself on Grafton street, if only I had the nerve. I'd make a fortune, or would I? Are people so cautious with money now, and maybe more cynical that they would walk on past? For the most part, I think yes they sure would! And the only people who would contribute, are the ones that can least afford it. People begging tug at your heartstrings, but I'm sure they are only going to spend it on booze, and I have no compassion for women sitting on a freezing cold pavement, using their young children as bait. This is child abuse, in my opinion, and quickly hardens any benevolent thoughts I might have been harbouring. The Sunday world has done a good job of exposing some of the mercenary ones, that pretend to be disabled, then later are photographed skipping out of a boozer or bookies.

Then it was on to Parnell street, to stock up on misery memoirs for mother, and indulge myself in my favourite fast food joint (restaurant sounds too flash) Benny's. Normally, you are guaranteed to be stuffed, but whether it was because we arrived too late or if the place is under new management, the portions and food choice were not up to their usual standards. In chapters bookshop, we made our usual beeline toward the misery section filled with ominous titles such as Punished, Dance for Daddy, Cry Silent Tears etc. She only likes these type of books, where the woman is abused, then has a stint as homeless, goes on to have 14 kids with an abuser, but somehow manages to pull herself together, and triumph over such adversity. I am nearly as bad reading books on Muslim women forced into marriage, autobiography of a yogi, books on the Amish, child trafficking interspersed with the occasional light read like my current "So Me" by Graham Norton.